


My Mother's Pearls

by MayMarlow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, BAMF!Stiles, F/M, Ghosts, M/M, Serial Killers, Violence, ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:17:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayMarlow/pseuds/MayMarlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his mother’s death, Stiles's life changes greatly and the memories get buried under new routines and experiences. But when his best friend is turned into a werewolf, and monsters begin turning up on a rather regular basis, it puts a strain on the carefully constructed coping that keeps the person “Stiles" functional.</p><p>When the Alpha Pack rolls into town, Stiles is done with playing nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Mother's Pearls

The first time John Stilinski met Dr. Mary Cooper, she was discussing the mentality of a suspected serial killer with Sheriff Marnoff. He had never considered himself to be an easily intimidated man, but something about the tall, dark, and sharp-eyed Dr. Cooper made him very reluctant to catch her attention.

“Mark tried to buy her coffee, once,” Deputy Simmons revealed gleefully, re-braiding her blonde hair with quick and nervous movements. “You know how persistent and stubborn that guy can be. She shut him down with a _look_.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” John admitted. “I don’t think he’s her type.”

“I don’t think anyone is her type right now, I doubt she’s here to get it on with a cop,” Simmons said. “I googled her – she’s got quite the reputation and has written books about how minds work. She used to have her own office in NYC.”

“What brought her to _Beacon Hills_ , then?” John wondered aloud, but before Simmons could actually give him an answer, Sheriff Marnoff called his name.

“Stilinski! Come here!” Sheriff Marnoff wasn't a particularly tall man, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in a loud voice and a viciously intelligent mind.

"Yes, sir?" John said, approaching the two.

"You're up to date with the current case, aren't you?" Marnoff started, and as soon as John nodded, he continued: "Dr. Cooper here is going to work with us on this case. Stephenson chickened out, the shifty bastard. You show her what we've got so far, answer any questions she has, and make yourself available at all times, understood?"

"Yes, sir," John said again, and smiled warmly at the woman. "John Stilinski, ma'am. At your service."

"Mary," she replied, her voice smooth and surprisingly low. "Dr. Mary Cooper. Pleased to meet you." She didn't respond to John's smile with one of her own, and the look in her eyes showed neither interest nor kindness. "I was told you have constructed a hypothesis on the progress of the killer: where he started, where he might be going, etc. I'd like to hear more about that."

"Sure," John said, and led the doctor closer to his own desk. He had followed the current case long before the nationwide manhunt had led the killer to Beacon Hills, where his two latest victims had been found. "It's just a collection of assumptions, some of which are supported by the evidence we have. The case itself is rather complicated; it may take months before we’re ready to close it."

"I am not in a hurry," Dr. Cooper said. "I moved to Beacon Hills for good. I find smaller towns a better environment for children."

"You... have children, ma'am?" John asked, somewhat surprised. He gestured for the woman to sit down, before he took a seat as well.

"Just one," Dr. Cooper replied, finally smiling. Her smile, however, was void of any genuine happiness or satisfaction. “My son. He’s seven.”

"A second grader? Does he like Beacon Hills Elementary so far?” John asked casually, while digging for the files he would need to give to the doctor. “All the local kids go there – it’s a big school and I’m sure he can make plenty of friends there.”

“He’s not there to make friends,” Dr. Cooper said flatly, accepting the file John finally handed her. “He’s there to study. He’s my son and has quite a few standards he needs to live up to.” John said nothing to that, though the feeling of unease increased as he imagined a small child buried under a pile of books far too advanced for his age. Dr. Cooper's movements were precise as she shuffled through the papers within the file quickly, before she finally nodded and stood up.

"I will contact you if the need arises," she said, and handed him her card. "I already have your number. I will call whenever I need your input, and it might happen at any hour.”

"Yes," John assured her, standing up as well. "I'll be available, and even when I'm off duty I can be reached by phone."

"Good," Dr. Cooper said, and snapped the file shut. "I will be in contact." She then turned then and left the office area, the sound of her heels clacking loudly against the polished floors. John sat down again and looked at Deputy Simmons.

"Good luck," Simmons said, giving him a sympathetic look. "Call me crazy, but I got the feeling that you’re going to need it."

*

The Pearl was a name the media came up with after someone figured out that every single victim of the serial killer in question - male or female - had a pair of pearls stuck in their ears. It might have sounded funny, and to some perhaps it was, but John could hardly think of the pearls.

The first recorded victim of The Pearl had been discovered nearly three years ago, in Arizona. John doubted that that was really the first victim - killers were in the bad habit of evolving and perfecting their rituals. When the body of a female jogger, with pearls in her ears, had been found right outside the local preserve, many had hoped it to be the work of a copycat. As time went by and another body was found, the FBI came thundering in.

Usually the police station was a rather quiet place. Beacon Hills was a small town with little trouble, and people rarely moved in or out. With FBI came the hustle and the bustle of the big cities, and suddenly every area seemed to be crowded and noisy and constantly restless. It was fine, though. _Temporary_. Thank God.

"There doesn't seem to be a single common factor between the victims," an agent said, and Dr. Cooper nodded slowly, eyes still on the pictures taken of different crime scenes.

"That's because these murders are not planned," she said, and John frowned, feeling suddenly curious. He was quite sure that he didn't particularly like Dr. Cooper, but her professionalism and skills were certainly respectable. Intimidating, even.

"What makes you say that?" the agent asked, scowling. "I mean, sure, by now there're so many victims that it's tough to plan all of them, but-"

"It's unlikely that the killer knew any of his victims," Dr. Cooper continued. "The times of the murders vary - some happened months apart, some within days from each other. Each case is incredibly violent and the targets are victims of opportunity."

"But why them?"

"He's an angry killer, that much is obvious. Cunning and highly intelligent - however the common vice of cunning and intelligent people is pride. Too much of it."

"You mean," John found himself saying, "that the murders could be just reactions to some imagined slight against his pride?" Dr. Cooper glanced at him and nodded, before sighing and taking a step back. She was clearly about to say something, when her phone began ringing.

Silently John watched her pull out her phone with a few impatient gestures and step outside the room, standing on the other side of the glass door. Her usually blank expression had shifted into an annoyed one, and though John couldn't hear what she was saying, he could see enough to suspect that it was nothing pleasant.

When she stepped back in, he smiled warily at her again. "Bad news from the office?"

"No," she replied, the corners of her mouth dipping down in a show of displeasure. She absently readjusted the collar of the shirt she was wearing – a different one from the shirt she had been wearing the day before. Far less colorful. "My son."

"Oh, you have a son, ma'am," Deputy Clarke said, a cheerful smile on her round face. "What's his name?"

"He likes to go by Stiles," Dr. Cooper said, clearly unwilling to continue talking about her child. Deputy Clarke either did not notice or did not care, as she continued on:

"How old is he? Currently at school or with his daddy?"

"He's at school. Second grade." Dr. Cooper's voice was, if possible, even colder. "His father is out of the picture."

"The poor dear," Deputy Clarke sighed, pursing her lips. John resisted the urge to ask more about the son - Stiles, really? - and simply kept observing the situation silently.

"He's hardly deserving of your sympathy, Deputy," Dr. Cooper said sharply. "The boy is doing quite well and his only shortcomings are caused by his laziness. Calling me to whine about schoolwork isn't the kind of behavior I encourage." The woman then turned back to look at the pictures with an intense expression on her face. John saw the appalled expression Deputy Clarke couldn't quite manage to hide, and he felt a twinge of pity for Dr. Cooper's son.

Well, the good doctor was most likely simply stressed out, and John knew better than to judge a parent for sometimes snapping at their child. His own mother, bless her heart, had been in the habit of scolding him quite often. Besides, plenty of children complained about their homework.

"We could try and lure the killer here, if pride is such a big factor to them," Deputy Simmons suddenly said. "I mean, we could just hold a press conference where we belittle him, and maybe he'll... come out of hiding, or something."

"That's a bit dangerous," the agent hovering around Dr. Cooper said, and John couldn't hold back a snort.

"That's part of the job, buddy," John said, and Sheriff Marnoff nodded.

"We won't make any decisions yet," the sheriff said. "But it's an idea worth considering. What do you say, doc?"

Dr. Cooper eyed Deputy Simmons with a calculative look, before she nodded as well. "We will have to discuss the details and see if there are any specific permits we need, but it could be beneficial for us to taunt him. Pride has been the downfall of many gifted minds, after all. I could take care of the press release."

"But that would make you the target," Deputy Clarke said, and Dr. Cooper gave her a look of contempt.

"Indeed it would," she said, "but a killer is more likely to approach a doctor than a policeman."

"But what about your son?" Deputy Clarke insisted, her voice slightly louder and very much more horrified. "You'd be putting him in danger!"

"That is not for you to decide," Dr. Cooper snapped, looking down at the shorter woman. "This is my job and it has to be done. We will discuss the details at a later time, and only those directly involved with this particular operation will be informed."

John took a deep breath, and bit his lip, resisting the urge to ask about her son. He didn't want to jump into conclusions - really, he didn't - but wasn't the woman being a bit too reckless? Why would catching the killer be more important than keeping her son safe? The face Deputy Clarke was making told John enough of what his colleague was thinking of the doctor, and even Simmons was frowning. He knew he wasn't the only one hoping for some more insight into what was going on.

*

“This is not the first time you’ve been without a babysitter,” Dr. Cooper snapped, pressing her phone against her cheek as she stepped into the office. She had been working with the Beacon Hills police for a week already, and the first impression she had left was yet to change.

"Stiles, just do your homework."

It was odd, John thought, how Dr. Cooper's kid was constantly doing his homework, whereas other children his age seemed to be outside all the time. Surely second graders didn't get that much homework, did they? John wouldn't know - while he did like children, he didn't have any.

"Stop being a brat. I know you can handle this," Dr. Cooper said, setting down her bag and taking a seat, before reaching for a stack of files left on her desk the day before. "I'm at work now, so don't call me again. No, Stiles, I can't bring you lunch. I just told you-- No, you can't order pizza. There's food in the fridge, I made you a sandwich and salad this morning. Go... do something else now. I have to work." With a huff, Dr. Cooper shoved her phone into her bag and focused on her work.

"Seriously, I feel sorry for the kid," Deputy Simmons whispered, pushing her chair next to John. "Isn't that abandonment, sort of? Just leaving him there alone?"

"I don't think you want to get involved in that," John whispered in return, ignoring the bad feeling that had crept upon him. "She's his mother, after all. She knows him best."

"My break doesn't start until one," Deputy Simmons said, "else I'd volunteer to take some lunch for the kid. Yours is at half past eleven, isn't it?"

"Yeah," John admitted. "You think I should do it?"

"Well, it's better than nothing, isn't it?"

"It's not like the kid needs any help, you know? She said she left him some food."

"How about we err on the side of caution?"

"Stilinski! Simmons!" Sheriff Marnoff hollered from the other side of the sea of cubicles. "Are you two gossiping, there? Simmons! You've got parking tickets to take a look at, and Stilinski should be reading through reports!"

"Parking tickets, for God's sake," Deputy Simmons groaned, before returning behind her own desk. John smirked at her, and shook his head. He tried to focus on the report he was supposedly reading, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Dr. Cooper and her son.

Was he being paranoid? Was he worrying too much? He didn't want to accuse Dr. Cooper of being abusive, but she did come across as rather distant from her son. Then again, despite the rather convincing assumptions of Simmons and Clarke, none of them knew what Dr. Cooper was like in her private life. For all they knew, she may very well be the best mother any child would ever want to have.

If John went ahead and checked on the kid, what would that do to the atmosphere at work? Would Dr. Cooper accuse him of being too intrusive or would she pack her things and go, leaving Beacon Hills without a criminal psychiatrist. Yet if - and this was a very big if - there was something amiss, something foul going on, what should John do? Was the mother really worse than foster care? Somehow John really doubted that. He knew what the foster system was like, and the thought of sending a child into that hell repulsed him.

"We've decided to go forth with the plan Deputy Simmons suggested," Dr. Cooper told him, a few hours later. "I know what kind of a speech to write for the press release. Sheriff Marnoff will assign a few of his deputies to keep an eye on my movements. If the killer attacks me, we'll catch him."

"That's... brave," John said, unable to come with anything genuinely positive to say. The woman looked rather pleased with how the situation had turned out, and she was nearly smiling. "Dr. Cooper?"

"Yes, Stilinski?"

"I... I overheard you talking to your son, earlier today. If you wish, since I'll be leaving the office for lunch anyway, I could... buy him something?" The offer was awkward, and haltingly presented, and John wasn't sure if he even wanted to be involved, but much to his surprise Dr. Cooper nodded.

"That would be very kind of you," she said. "Buy Chinese, Stiles likes that. Rice and whatever else, he's not picky. I'm sure he'll appreciate your company."

John hadn't offered to actually do anything more than bring some food for the kid, but he doubted that backing out now would do him much good. "He's lonely, then?"

"He's not like other children," Dr. Cooper said, and though her voice remained cold and uninterested, her expression conveyed a sense of fondness John hadn't noticed before. "He's too... intense for many of them. Too smart. Too talkative. Their slow, undeveloped brains cannot keep up with him. Being too good for other children makes him lonely."

"Does he... does he say he's too good for them?" John asked warily, and the doctor sighed heavily.

"No," she said. "He doesn't understand it. Cries over not being like them. Cries when they run away from him and tell him to shut up. Cries when they become jealous of his academic success and leave him to associate with inferior people."

It was ironic, John thought, that a woman who had stated that pride was the downfall of many brilliant minds, was so consumed by that very same pride. "Has he had any trouble in Beacon Hills so far?"

"Not that I know of. He mentioned a boy he has been playing with - McCall, I believe. I think his mother is a nurse. I would rather he didn't blindly rush into friendships like that. They always wreck him when they end."

"Children are like that, ma'am," John said. "Will you tell him that I'll be coming? I doubt he'd open the door for a stranger."

"I will," Dr. Cooper assured him. "Thank you, Deputy Stilinski."

*

Dr. Cooper's house was near the preserve - a mansion looming over its immediate neighborhood like a dark, unpleasant shadow. The many windows of the three-story building were closed, curtains drawn shut. The garden outside was trimmed and well-maintained, and John recognized the handiwork of the local gardening service. Everything was dark, gloomy, hollow, and impersonal.

The thought of a child being alone in that house troubled him, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.

John walked towards the front door, carrying enough Chinese food for two, and rang the doorbell. Though it had been sunny moments earlier, it seemed like the sunlight and its warmth didn't reach this house. A cold gust of wind made John shiver and he resisted the urge to return to the car.

With a soft click, the front door was pulled open, and a small, thin boy with a wide grin and bright brown eyes looked up at him.

"You're Stilinski, right?" the boy said, his happiness a vast contrast to his mother's melancholy. "I'm Stiles, but you probably know that already. Mom told me that you’ll be coming, and she said to say thank you. So, yeah, thank you. Come in, we can eat in the kitchen. Is that Chinese? Is it from the place next to the Starbucks near the hospital? I love it, their rice is wicked good."

"Hello Stiles," John said, smiling at the child, slightly taken aback by the fast chatter. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?" the boy said, sounding breathless. "You mean mom talks about me?"

"She… she has mentioned you," John said, following him into the house. The wooden floors were polished, the furniture was tasteful and everything looked barely touched. Books were covering the walls, papers were stacked neatly on most flat surfaces, and there was a notable lack of pictures - drawn or photographs - anywhere.

"You're in Beacon Hills Elementary, aren't you?" John asked after a while, once they both had washed their hands and were ready to dig into their food. Stiles nodded, still grinning happily.

"It's cool," the boy said. "Better than the other schools and tutors. Lots of fun. And there's Scott, so that's a plus. Do you know Scott? Scott McCall. He's nice and he lets me talk, but mom says he can't come over because she doesn't like noise. Mom doesn't like lots of things."

Yeah, John wasn't going to touch that with a ten-foot pole, thanks. "Any other interesting people you've met at school? Aside from Scott?"

"Well, there's Lydia," Stiles told him. "She's really pretty and really smart. I told mom about her and mom said... mom said stuff. I can't- I don't like Lydia anymore." John wanted to ask more - he wanted so badly to understand what the boy had meant by _that_ , but he didn't want to pry. The child seemed happy, well-adjusted and he wasn't injured in any way, so obviously - maybe - his worries had been for naught. And yet something about this whole setting bothered him.

"What do you usually do in your free time?" John asked, then, hoping to change the subject to something lighter. "It's a pity to waste a whole sunny Saturday indoors, isn't it?"

"I can't go outside," Stiles replied, his shoulders slumping, before he continued to shovel food into his mouth. "Mom gave me books. She told me to read so I can be like her when I grow up."

"Like her?" John thought of Dr. Cooper's chronic misery, the unhappiness and general disinterest that seemed to be a permanent presence in her attitude, and hoped that the kid knew a happier side to the woman in question.

"You know," Stiles said, finishing his food. "Smart. She writes books, you know. She's awesome. You're awesome, too. Will you come visit me again? Can you come? It gets lonely here. I'm alone - well, there's Mabel but, you know. She's Mabel."

"Mabel?" John repeated, finishing his own food as well and moving to clean up. "Your nanny? I didn't know she's here."

"Mabel isn't my nanny," Stiles told him, turning to smile at the empty staircase he could see from the kitchen. "She's just Mabel. She doesn't like mom, but mom can't get rid of her. Mabel likes me."

An imaginary friend? Well, John had heard worse. "She's your friend, then?"

"Yeeeaahh," Stiles said, nodding. He watched John quietly for a few moments, before he continued: "You're going to go now, aren't you? And then I won't see you again, will I?" And damn, if that didn't make John feel awful.

"How about this," the deputy said, "I'll give you my number, and if you ever need anything, you call me."

"Can I call you just to talk?" Stiles wanted to know, and there was something in the look he was giving John that made the man unable to tell him no.

“If I’m not working or asleep, I promise to pick up,” John assured him. “See you around, kid.”

*

It was well past midnight when Mary Cooper finally went home. The sky was dark and the wind was blowing harder. Mary was displeased, but not particularly surprised, to see Stiles sitting on the couch and watching some documentary. She paused long enough to take off her coat and hang it, before stepping further into the house.

"You should be asleep," Mary said, kicking off her shoes. "Weekends don't justify a change in the sleep rhythm."

"I was waiting for you," Stiles said, turning to grin at her. Smiling, he was always smiling. Sometimes Mary wondered where he got the strength to smile so much. "I didn't see you this morning."

"Stiles, that doesn't matter," Mary told him impatiently, replacing mild guilt with annoyance. "You have your daily schedule, and you must stick to it regardless of whether or not I'm here, do you understand?" She looked at her son, who was eyeing her with a look of confused defiance.

"No," Stiles said petulantly, before he brightened up again and changing the subject. "I met Deputy Stilinski!"

"I know. I sent him here."

"He's nice!"

"Stiles, brush your teeth and go to bed. I'm tired as well and I need my sleep," Mary snapped, climbing up the stairs. The last thing she wanted was to waste time listening to her son simper about the deputies of Beacon Hills. It was bad enough she had to put up with them on a daily basis anyway. "If you insist on being awake, at least do something useful." With a sigh, she stepped into her room and closed the door behind her, not caring to listen to whatever protests Stiles was shouting after her.

The day had been long, indeed. The plan to lure the Pearl out of hiding was going to be set in motion in a matter of weeks, and she needed to be emotionally - and physically, of course - prepared. She knew what she'd need to say - knew how to make the killer yearn to kill her. Baiting people was always an easy thing for her to do, and she was proud of her ability to show them how little she thought of them. How little she thought of everyone else.

The local deputies had been visibly appalled when she had insisted on being the bait, despite having a young child living with her. Simmons had suggested sending Stiles off to some other relative until the Pearl had been caught, but Mary had refused, for various reasons.

The first reason she gave them was very simple, and very practical: if the Pearl figured out that she had sent her son away into safety, he'd know that this was a set-up. He'd know that something was amiss if they took the weaker players off the board. The second reason was that there were no other relatives she could send Stiles to. Her own parents were long dead, and Stiles' father was is no condition to take care of anyone.

In addition - though this was something she didn't tell the others - Stiles wasn't like their ordinary, boring children. Learning a bit about life and how dangerous it could be would only help him later on in life. It'd make him less gullible, make him aware of how bad people could be. Mary knew what her son was capable of achieving, and if she allowed him to relax and grow up like other children, he'd regress to their level. It wasn't wrong to demand perfection from her child, was it? She just wanted to have a son she could be proud of. Stiles wasn't there yet, but he could be. If he learned how to sit still, focus, and talk less.

In New York a colleague had asked Mary if Stiles had some sort of a disorder - ADHD specifically - and Mary had told her no. He didn't. It wasn't uncommon for children to be noisy and loud when they were young, and it was ridiculous to jump to conclusions so carelessly. They had both worked together as psychiatrists for quite a while, and Mary had always been wary of misdiagnosing people.

Besides, if Stiles had ADHD, Mary would know. She definitely would. But he didn't, so taking him in for any testing and getting him some kind of medication were absolutely unnecessary.

"Mom," Stiles called from the other side of the closed door. "Can you read me a story?"

"A sto-- Stiles, are you _serious_? Do you know what time it is!?"

"Yes, but we could-"

"I taught you how to read so I wouldn't have to do this. Go to your room and if you can't sleep, read aloud to yourself. I'm _tired_ , I still have work tomorrow, and I am not going to voluntarily stay up any longer than I have to!"

On the other side the door, Stiles looked at the polished brass doorknob and nodded slowly. He pressed his mouth against the keyhole and said "good night", before making his way back to his room.

It was fine. He was fine. He hadn't expected her to read for him anyway, really. Stiles knew that it was late and that his mother would want to sleep. He wasn't disappointed. She did love him, though, because deputy Stilinski had said that his mom had mentioned Stiles to people at work. His mom must have talked about him. Maybe she told them about how Stiles was a big boy, like Spiderman, and didn't need anyone to read him stories anymore. He did go to school and was almost ten, anyway.

The boy brushed his teeth and climbed into bed, his small hands reaching for the cell phone next to his pillow. After a few moments of hesitation, he sent out a message:

_'Good night.'_

Not a moment later, the phone chirped to signal an incoming message.

_'Stiles? Good night! :) - J'_

Big boy or not, Stiles couldn't help but grin widely when he received the response from Deputy Stilinski. It was nice. Super nice. It made him happy and maybe next time Deputy Stilinski would tell him about his adventures at work. About catching some nasty criminals like the ones his mom was looking for.

Stiles sighed, laying on his back, and looked up at the ceiling. Mabel, with her sparse brown hair and bulging eyes, an iron wire wrapped around her throat and her limbs bent in odd angles, stared back at him.

Stiles smiled, and closed his eyes.

*

“I’m not the killer,” Deputy Simmons said, watching the press conference Dr. Cooper had organized, “and yet every word she says pisses me off.”

“Preach it, sister,” Deputy Clarke agreed. “If the Pearl is still nearby and has those issues she spoke of, he’s going to try and get his hands on her. I still find it hard to stomach that she’d risk her son like this.”

“The house will be guarded,” John told them. “All the time. Nobody will be able to sneak in undetected. Stiles – I mean, Dr. Cooper and her son will be safe.”

“Stiles?” Deputy Clarke repeated. “You mean her son? I heard you had lunch with him a few days ago. Please don't tell me you did it in order to get on Dr. Creepy's good side.”

"Oh my God, Dr. Creepy," Deputy Simmons grinned. "That's perfect! And actually the lunch thing was my suggestion, sort of. Did you see the kid? What was he like?"

"Stiles is," John paused, unsure of how to describe the boy. "He's talkative. Smiles all the time."

"Very different from his mother, then," Clarke sighed, shaking her head. "But if he's a happy child, then she must be doing something right." John nodded slowly, thinking of telling the others about the odd things he had encountered. Stiles was lonely, sheltered yet neglected, and his mother's demands of him seemed rather strict. John did feel sorry for the child, but none of that was a reason for interference.

"The house itself is gloomy," he sighed. "Can't imagine why anyone would want to live in it."

"They bought the old Chesser's house, didn't they?" Simmons said. "Chesser died there. I don't believe in ghosts, but if there were any, they would be in that house. It’s somehow fitting that Dr. Creepy would be the one to live in it."

"What did her kid tell you?" Clarke wanted to know. John smiled, feeling oddly happy of how concerned someone was about Stiles's situation. "Did you guys talk about his life here? Does he have friends?"

"He has one, yeah. He's a bright and chatty kid, so I think he'll make more friends as time passes by."

"As long as we manage to keep him safe from the Pearl," Simmons said, nodding towards the TV where Dr. Cooper was still talking, a smug expression on her face. "Lord knows if she insists on putting him at risk for the sake of her job, the kid will need some serious survival skills."

"He'll be fine," John said, frowning. "Like I said, there'll be someone watching Dr. Cooper's house at all times, and that someone will tail her until the danger has passed. If all goes well, the Pearl will confront her and that's when we'll get him."

"Let's hope that plan works," Simmons said. "I'm famished. When are you next going to have lunch with the Cooper kid? I wouldn't mind meeting him."

"Oh, same here," Clarke agreed. "I doubt that his mother will work with us after this particular case, but it'll be nice to make sure that he's going to be okay. Not to mention that we could put a stop to any bullying he might be going through."

"I don't think he's being bullied, though."

"Oh, John, you'd be surprised by how much children can hide."

"That really doesn't make me feel better," John muttered. "I'm not sure, though, what Dr. Cooper's reaction is going to be like if we all insist on meeting her son."

"Why would it bother her?" Simmons asked. "If she has nothing to hide-"

"She seems rather protective of him, is all," John replied. "Or rather, well, protective isn't what I mean... She's... controlling? He, well, he told me that we had a crush or something on a classmate, and then his mother put a stop to it. That just... is that- does that happen often? Is it normal?"

"It's a bit odd," Clarke said with a frown. "Put a stop to it how, though? I mean, if she just told him that he's a kid and crushes come and go, then yeah that's normal. Insensitive and I wouldn't do it, but not horrible, I think."

"I don't know," John said. "I should get a hobby or something."

"Like you have time for hobbies," Simmons chortled. "I used to do yoga twice a week, but I can barely survive my current workload these days. There is just no time or energy left for anything else."

"Except TV shows and food," Clarke agreed. "So, Stiles likes Chinese food? Has he tried anything else? Has the kid been to Arby's? They've got these burgers and curly fries that are pretty much spat by heaven. I swear to God, angels sing whenever I eat a meal of that."

*

_It goes wrong._

_Of course it does._

The week following Dr. Cooper’s press conference was a tiring one. Waiting for something to happen – for the Pearl to make a move – was exhausting in its own way and kept everyone involved tense and restless. The only one who seemed to not be affected at all was the one who had no idea of what was happening; whenever John would drop by Cooper’s house to visit Stiles, the little boy would greet him with a cheerful smile and an enthusiastic tale of his adventures at school.

Dr. Cooper’s mood turned fouler by the day, and though she wasn’t the type to raise her voice, her cutting words did enough damage to those she took her anger out on. Even the sheriff preferred to stay out of her way, and John yearned for the same option. Alas, Dr. Cooper kept him busy fetching papers, reading over her theories and picking up the phone every time Stiles called.

“You’d think she _wants_ the killer to get her,” Simmons muttered.

“She does,” Clarke said. “To prove her _point_.”

It seemed, however, that Dr. Cooper’s point would remain unproven, as nearly two weeks after the press conference, a new body turns up – in a town two hours south from Beacon Hills. The day it happened, Stiles sat quietly in his room, listening to his mother scream in hers.

He knew she was frustrated and angry. He knew there was nothing she hated as much as being wrong. He knew how sensitive she was to the judgment of others. He also knew better than to approach her when she was in one of her moods.

Stiles knew that when his mother was like that, the thought of him didn't even cross her mind. It was fine, he was okay with that. It wasn't like he needed her for anything right now anyway. He had never needed her help for homework, and she had never offered to help him. Good grades were rewarded, though. A good grade would make her look at him, sometimes she would even touch the side of his head and tell him that he didn't let her down.

Stiles moved to sit by the window of his room, looking at the small houses in the distance being swallowed by fog.  The sun had set a while ago and even though he had finished his homework, he still had some reading to do.  Somewhere in the distance, a car was driving and a dog - or maybe a wolf - howled in the woods nearby. The sound of books hitting walls and papers being torn was as constant as his mother's loud anger.

It took Stiles a moment to notice a small car driving towards the house, and for a moment he wondered what would John want at this hour. A moment later he realized, however, that it couldn't be John - the car was small, green and unfamiliar. It drove closer slowly, and parked right outside the front door. Stiles could see a delicate hand pushing the car's door open, and a slender woman with a huge purple purse stepped out. She nervously smoothed out the invisible wrinkles of her dark grey skirt, and stepped closer to the front door. For some reason it took nearly a minute before the doorbell ring, and the little boy couldn’t help but find it strange. What could have caused the delay?

Stiles turned away from the window, and crept closer to the doorway to listen to what was going on. His mother had become silent at the sound of the doorbell, and soon Stiles heard her leaving her room to open the front door. Stiles glanced at Mabel, who was under his bed with only her torn and dirty fingers visible - he knew she wasn't asleep, though, because Mabel never slept. Soon Stiles opened the door of his room and crawled quietly towards the staircase, hoping to find out what the stranger was doing in their house.

“I was right, wasn’t I,” Stiles heard his mother say. “I knew you’d come.”

“That was the only thing you figured out,” their guest replied, her voice gentle. “And don’t get too thrilled, either. Nobody else is even halfway to figuring it out, and you won’t be here to tell them.”

“I expected you to come quite a bit earlier. Your patience surprised me.”

“Well, I couldn’t approach you with a police guard at your heels, now could I? And Mary – may I call you Mary? – I will need quite a bit of time to get this done.”

Stiles – eager to see what was going on – quietly took a few steps down to get a better look at what was going on. Their guest’s dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and there was a slight accent in her speech.

“You’re not afraid,” she said.

“I don’t see why I should be,” Stiles heard his mother reply. “You’re about my size, and I’m the one holding a knife. I’d say that you made a mistake by—“

“My dear _Mary_. So quick to _assume_. You’ve seen pictures of my handiwork – some were twice my size, if not bigger. Did that save them?”

Stiles’s mother took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, before she glanced behind their unexpected guest and saw her son sitting on the staircase. She stared at him blankly for a few short moments, before her eyes flickered back to their guest.

“Why the pearls?” she asked. “That’s the only thing that doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Why the pearls,” their guest repeated slowly, and then chuckled. “Because I could, because nobody else did it and… you see, Mary, if I now kill a stranger somewhere in Chicago without leaving pearls behind, do you think anyone will link it to me? No, they won’t. Trademarks make you responsible for the things you put your trademark on; however, the things you leave unmarked will remain unlinked to you. Now, though, I do believe we’ve wasted enough time. I should get started.”

It was odd that though their guest said she wanted to start – start doing what? – she didn’t move. Her back remained turned towards Stiles, who was watching his mother’s face with curiosity and confusion.

“You’re a nasty piece of work, aren’t you,” their guest suddenly said, after a few moments of contemplative silence. “You know what I’m about to do and yet you don’t tell your little child to go to his room and hide? Do you want me to kill him before or after you die?”

“I know what the foster system is like,” Stiles’s mother said coolly. “Besides, I doubt he’s in danger. You’re unarmed, and I know plenty of self-defense.”

“Kid,” their guest said then, not turning completely – just enough to let Stiles know that he was being spoken to. How she had known that he was there, the boy wasn’t sure. He was tempted to ask, but decided against doing so. “Go back to your room and don’t come down. I’ll tell you only once – you can come back here in the morning.” Stiles hesitated for a second, waiting for his mother’s input. When none came, he slowly began making his way upstairs. Why was he always excluded from interesting things like this?

There was something oddly frightening about their guest, however, and Stiles found himself reluctant to disobey her. He went to his room and closed the door behind him, sighing heavily. Mabel wasn’t under his bed anymore. She was gnawing on her own arm, curled up in the corner of the room. The sound of her teeth grinding against the protruding pieces of bones was comforting and familiar.

Right before he fell asleep, Stiles thought he heard a short scream. It was unlikely, though, because despite her bouts of angry yelling, his mother never screamed in front of outsiders.


End file.
